


Heroism On Command

by solareys



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Background Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Implied Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes - Freeform, M/M, Past Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Overwatch, Soldier Enhancement Program, Soldier Enhancement Program Era, Young Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 15:19:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solareys/pseuds/solareys
Summary: "Coveted" is far from the many words Reyes or Morrison would use to describe the Soldier Enhancement Program. Perhaps "Inhumane" or "Experimental" better fit the bill.This story starts four weeks into the Soldier Enhancement Program, Reyes is learning quickly that this new controversial program is far more than he bargained for, and his stay is about to change as the experiments take a rather twisted, dark turn. Luckily he's got a new bunk mate to grate his nerves all along the way.





	1. Status Quo

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic I've written in a long while. The Soldier Enhancement Program is something I have explored quite a bit. This fic is going to be a bit of a slow burn depending on how things go. Please let me know your thoughts and feedback, it would be much appreciated!

**33 Days Underground - Soldier Enhancement Program**

 

_ They  _ didn’t know how to properly dismiss the dead. 

 

A heavy heart weighed in the sternum like a searing lodestone, and the base was rampant with disrespect. 

 

Either those Scientist Goons didn’t know how it worked in the military, or they didn’t care. Gabriel was willing to bet it was both. 

 

In the Military, you make a cross with their gun, helmet, Dog Tags for identification, and Boots to symbolize their final march into battle. It had been a tradition dating back since the first Civil Wars in the US and had stuck as a method of honour ever since. You shoot the salute. You play Taps. You honor your fallen comrade even if you didn’t know them. Because that unlucky Son of a Bitch was out there in the fray just like you. And you better damn well respect them for giving their life to the cause, and for  _ you _ . Because boy, you sure as Hell didn't deserve someone risking their neck for your sorry ass. And they did. 

 

You lucky Bastard.

 

But this wasn’t a battlefield in the typical sense. Not of any run and gun sort of way anyway. So, he supposed, they didn’t deserve that much regard. Even if he felt his mind were a battlefield given what they were all being put through, here they weren’t Soldiers anymore, even given the misleading title of  _ Soldier Enhancement Program _ . No, they were experiments. Devices. Flesh vessels made to carry out the deeds of chemicals coursing through their veins that would likely kill over half of them.

 

Like how it had killed the one they disrespected so.

 

Here, they do nothing to honor the dead and merely strip the sheets of Gabriel’s old bunkmate without so much as a solemn expression. They were simply replaced with a standard starchy white sheet that barely stretched over the poor excuse of a mat upon the metal slab of a bunk.

 

He had personally only been there for four weeks. Living that long in the first weeks is a miracle he found, given how many bodies they were wheeling out on the daily. That’s something they don’t tell you when you sign up. And being there a month? It practically made you a Veteran of the Soldier Enhancement Program. There wasn’t a single person there who had been there longer than him. This program was still new. Too new.

 

They’d yet to work out all of the kinks.

 

As he watched the weirdos making the empty bed leave, he turned on his heel to head for the Mess Hall. There was no point in ruminating over his lost bunkmate any further. That was the closest he was going to get to any sort of funeral or service. A final cleaning and disinfecting of his bunk. How fucking depressing.

 

They’d only known each other for two weeks. And while his lost honour and respect rubbed Gabriel the wrong way, there was nothing he could do about it but simply fume silently. Not like anyone would even give a damn if he rose a fuss anyway. The Kid was new. His disappearance hardly made anyone flinch.

 

It was a shame though, he actually kind of liked the guy.

 

A rarity.

 

**

“Reyes!”

 

The sound of his name was ever recognizable from that grating voice of the lab tech, assistant, Secretary, whatever she was. All he knew was that she had some sort of wasted degree from Oasis, working behind the desk filing papers and doing roll call while still wearing her lab coat as if she meant something. Come to think of it, he'd never seen them let her do anything aside from sitting behind a desk and shuffling out on stiff legs to call Soldiers into the lab. 

 

Tired eyes flickered to meet her stout frame, bushy eyebrows raising with what could be identified as a disinterested expression. A feigned one. A subconscious habit to pretend like none of this bothered him in front of the other Soldiers. Like having Chemicals thrusted through every possible blood vessel didn’t bother him in the slightest when it was what scared him the most.

 

Stuffing his hands into his hoody’s pockets, his stroll was casual, his shoulders lax and demeanor expressing his sheer ‘boredom’ as he approached. But he was anything but bored. In fact, he could feel his pulse elevating slightly at the way her plump lips spread to express such a pink smile.

 

She reminded him of his mother.

 

That wasn’t a particularly good thing.

 

“Follow me!”

 

She said, all so chipper, and as if he’d never followed her down the same damn hallway they all always went down. 

 

The sound of her heels clicking against the tile, resonating off of the walls was disorienting, the sound pounding in his head as it travelled from left to right, surrounding him. Enclosing upon him. Focusing his mind all too much on the closeness of this woman and how she was suffocating him, even though they were spaced fairly apart from each other.

 

Being underground for a month … He didn’t know only a month would bring out such claustrophobia.

 

His stomach flipped with a hurtling wave of nausea. He felt he should be asking to momentarily excuse himself to take a trip to the bathroom and induce vomiting just to get the sickening, bile rising out of his throat.

Instead, he opted for deep breaths as they stepped through the double doors leading to the Laboratory, his nostrils instantly attacked with the powerful scent of antiseptic.

 

Immediately, gowns were tossed into his chest, and thank the Gods above for fast reflexes, he managed to catch the stiff fabric with a roll of his eyes and stripped to everything but his socks and undergarments.

 

The injections were so procedure. You sat on the table, they insert a few IMs into the arms, into the lower back near the spine, and yes, into the buttocks. He was always so twitchy as they did so, making the injections far more painful than they needed to be. Stiff muscles always lead to bruising at injection site, and he was always chided for tensing, for it would cause serum to leak from the wound.

 

Other than that, the thirty minute wait period following was nothing but fidgeting, waiting for the side effects to kick in.

 

Last week, his skin began to peel. Not terribly. Not enough to break skin and bleed, but enough to become scaly and flaky, making his skin cells weak like he was dealt a bad sunburn, that of which he was still recovering from. The week prior, he went completely blind and deaf on his left side for about three hours. Thankfully he had been allowed to sleep it off.

 

Now, he merely laid back against the examination table, fingers drumming to a song that he could barely remember, lazy gaze flickering between monitors reading his heart rate, oxygen levels, other monitors measured brain activity, all sorts of numbers and graphs he wished he understood but didn’t care enough to ask about. 

 

Eventually he found his eyes fluttering. He didn’t know when, but the quietness of the gentle shuffling in the lab along with the soft beeps eventually faded into white noise. Fatigue was a bitter monster that easily caught up with him, and it was soon that he found his head tilting slightly as he began to dose …

 

Until he was jolted.

 

Initially, he thought one of the scientist’s had shaken him awake. Breath was sucked quickly into his lungs and the monitor measuring his heart rate beeped a tad bit louder as it detected his startle. A wide gaze flickered around in search of the possible culprit but none stood around him. He figured it were merely a response to falling asleep, his body jerking himself awake due to protective methods, all until his leg kicked spasmodically. Violently so. His brows furrowed as his heel thunked against the table, this time, certainly loud enough to catch the attention of the Scientist’s who stopped to pay mind to the monitors, one of which seemed to have graphs that were spiking. Showing some sort of activity.

 

His fingers began to twitch, pressing down into the mat at his sides before he lifted them to observe how they moved on their own.

 

A strange feeling traveled up the back of his neck, sending a shudder down his spine that quivered his entire frame, only, the jerking didn’t seem to stop.

 

As the muscles in his neck froze and stiffened, his head felt pinned back against the mat as every major muscle progressively began twitch and constrict, forcing himself to curl and jerk into fetal position similar to that of the process of Rigor Mortis.

 

As the muscles continuously tightened and bunched beneath the skin, pain blossomed through every limb. At first it was gradual, as if he were getting something akin to a Charlie Horse within his calf, only now it was happening in every limb to an expansive degree that even him, with his massively high pain tolerance, had his eyes squeezed shut and teeth clamped together as a pained groan escaped strained throat.

 

Then all at once, all he could see was red.

 

He came to to the sound and burning sensation of his throat tearing itself apart. Muscles spasming, pulling, releasing, kicking, jerking. His ears rang. Vomit rose and filled his mouth, sputtering from his lips, cutting off the screams forced by constricted vocal cords and as he choked, the one conscious thought he could manage was,

 

_ This is it. This is how I die, just like the others. _

 

Only he found himself awakening surprisingly peacefully to the soft sound of his heart rate monitor, and for a second, the disjointed sensation left him wondering if that seizure had happened at all. But the soreness in his muscles, the fatigue, the daze all spoke of the tale as remnant evidence.

 

As his eyes peeled open, the glaring lights were far far too bright. Suddenly every sense became too much and too little all at once, just as it always did. Sensations under his fingertips tickled so much they hurt. The sounds resonating around him pounded a harsh throttle through his head, and the lights above hurt worse than stepping out of the dark into sunlight.

 

“Was that what you were looking for?”

 

He muttered his slurred speech of relative hatred at the scientists, knowing fully well that he would not be graced with an answer.

Instead he was greeted with the sound of pens on paper. Fingers typing away at keyboards as they typed away. Eyes glancing at his crooked form, bent upon the examination table.

 

He figured whatever part of this enhancement was, it had to do with muscle movement. Why else would it involve such a violent constriction and retraction of every muscle?

 

He was sore. Everywhere he could be and places he didn’t know he could be. Every muscle felt simultaneously strained, pulled, used. As though he’d partook in some vigorous exercise that was too much for his body.

 

In a sense, this was. Just in a different form.

 

And before he knew it, they were pushing him up. Speaking words that barely met his ears. All he knew was to stand and a groan slid past his throat as the hypersensitivity sent shocks through his socked feet as the soles touched the ground.

 

They were speaking to him. Discharge instructions, he figured. Sounds were too loud in his ears, so loud that he could not hear them. He was getting used to this at this point, and simply nodded to whatever the scientists were saying.

 

They were motioning towards some sort of explanation with the graphs. Likely yet another reasoning of how he was weak. How he couldn’t handle the injections and that’s why he had such an adverse reaction. Like the week before, and the week before that.

 

It was all bullshit. He knew it was. It had to be. If he was weak and couldn’t handle the injections, he would be dead already. Just like the others.

 

“You are dismissed, return your gown to the bin.”

 

Gabriel could practically repeat the words back to the goon in time with his speech, he heard it so often.

 

There was no hesitation to leave, though on his way out, a thought flitted by his mind.

 

Perhaps he ought to have tried to listen, for he’d not the faintest clue of what laid ahead of him.


	2. Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like they had these muscle freaks on speed dial. Eager to jab needles into them, fill them with chemicals and watch them squirm to fill some sort of sick quota.
> 
> But he understood they needed soldiers. Soldiers better than the average grunt out on the field. That's why they were there.
> 
> That is why he chose to go through such torture. Something about it just felt … Wrong.
> 
> And now his new replacement was in the process of fighting him over bunks just after he'd personally been discharged from having the weirdest seizure he could ever imagine possible.

There was nothing he wanted more than to collapse into bed. Despite the mat being paper thin, and his bones aching, sore from resting on that metal slab for each long passing night of the last month. He at least had a blanket to curl under, albeit thin.

 

Stepping through the halls, the lights were blaring. Waves of nausea and dizziness sent him side-stepping uncontrollably up against the wall like a blathering drunk. Using his hand’s graze along its smooth yet flawed surface, he guided himself along,  stumbling through the maze of halls. The barracks were eventually found but not after some great struggling and damn near tripping over himself as his socked feet caught into his pant-legs while weaving between rows of beds.

 

But when he found his bunk, he found the space occupied by a duffle bag. Beside it, a man unpacking his things, stuffing the looks of fatigues and other various items into the emptied foot locker at the end of the Bunk.

 

His old bunk mate’s foot locker.

 

He was blonde, medium build. Seemed just about as tall as he was, which nearly sent a laugh through him, if he didn’t feel so shitty. His poor feet would dangle over the rails of the bunk. For they seemed built for someone of average stature. Inconsiderate, since this was a program for a bunch of muscle hogs pumped full of chemicals made to alter the very chemistry of their bodies. Some were bound to get taller than the average man, or so one would think.

 

Perhaps it was there for comparison.

 

He didn't care enough to spend too much time dwelling on it.

 

His head tilted as he gazed at the duffle on his bed, his expression reading his distaste from the redness of shadowed eyes.

 

His presence seemed to capture the Soldier's attention by surprise, bright blue eyes popping open wide.

 

“Oh! Heh-Hey! You must be--”

 

“Top bunk, Boy Scout.” 

 

He interrupted, lifting a hand as though to  _ physically _ stop the stranger from speaking. If there was one thing he wanted to get squared away immediately, it was the old negotiated terms of his taking to the bottom bunk that he had agreed to with his last bunkmate. And besides that fact, the heightened sensitivity of his  _ everything _ made every sound oh so painfully  _ loud.  _ And this Soldier’s speech was far from the exception.

 

“Well--I was assigned to B-1.”

 

A frustrated huff escaped his lungs as he cringed, ear drums simultaneously blowing sound out and plugging his right ear entirely. It made him dizzy, and he was sure his stance even wavered a second as a hand lifted to gingerly rub at his earlobe. 

 

His patience was absolutely non-existent, and while he'd wish it upon no one to have to deal with his attitudes, he felt this ass was rightfully asking for it for not backing down immediately.

 

As if he appeared intimidating or anything of the sort while wavering from intoxicating dizziness.

 

Man, he felt like shit.

 

“And I'm assigned to B-2, but my last man and I swapped.”

 

“Well … No offense, but I'm not that man.”

The blonde said, standing up a bit straighter, his hand grasping the railing of the bed as to lean against it nonchalantly. A definite show of squaring Gabe up, as though they were two lions in a pen, fighting over territory. Ruffling fur to appear bigger.

 

Smug motherfucker.

 

The pounding behind his eyes seemed to intensify with every word this Kid spoke. His own hand stuck out to the bunk’s support to help balance himself, his eyes squeezing shut as he hissed through his teeth.

 

It didn't occur to him up until this point of how quickly they replaced his bunk mate. They just removed his body a few hours ago and here was his new replacement. It was like they had these muscle freaks on speed dial. Eager to jab needles into them, fill them with chemicals and watch them squirm to fill some sort of sick quota. 

 

But he understood they needed soldiers. Soldiers better than the average grunt out on the field. That's why they were there.

 

That is why he chose to go through such torture. Something about it just felt … Wrong.

 

And now his new replacement was in the process of fighting him over bunks just after he'd personally been discharged from having the weirdest seizure he could ever imagine possible. 

 

In the SEP, bunkmates weren't just people you shared bunks with. They were your sparring partner. Your spotter. Your token buddy through the program. You did everything together, from working out, to sleeping.

 

It was best to get on their good side. And this Boy Scout was doing a good job of getting on his worst.

 

“Are...you alright?”

 

Right. He was clinging to the bed frame, covering his eyes with one hand in hopes to stop the world from spinning to no avail. He was sweating now, rolls dripping from his temples as blood rushed to his head, blocking out his hearing to a distanced muffle. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, behind his eyes, between his temples. He was salivating heavily as the world rotated on its axis and he could _ physically feel it. _

 

Yet he said,

 

“I'm fucking fine.”

 

Despite that fact.

 

“Listen. I get you're mister macho man over here--”

 

The blonde started, ready to go on a tirade about Gabe’s attitude-- and down Gabriel went, collapsing weakly onto his knees. He nigh crashed into the blonde’s legs as his hands failed to keep him clung to the bed frame.

 

His eyes clenched shut as he prepared to meet the floor, though his head spun with the disjointed feeling of being lifted. Warm, strong hands caught him under his arms, his cheek suddenly buried within the soft cotton shirt of the Soldier’s chest.

 

“-- Okay.”

 

The blonde breathed, hoisting Gabriel onto the bottom bunk like a rag doll. He had to hand it to the kid, he didn’t look like he could take that much weight, and Gabriel wasn’t light by any means.

 

Being rolled on his side, assuming as a preventative in the event he were to get sick, his world continued to roll. Everything fell in a spiral downward into a pit of nauseating blackness that left him gasping for breath.

 

**

 

As a kid, Gabriel never got sick.

 

He couldn’t afford to. Even if he so managed to come down with something, he still went to school. In hindsight, he supposed that was unfair to the other kids he was around. Exposing them all to germs. But anything beat being at home. Especially being at home for any extended amount of time.

 

His Mother never laid a finger on him, but never paid him any mind. His Father didn’t give a damn what she said even if she did show an inkling of care, and a heavy hand was common from his side. Neglect was rampant. Even though they were well off, he had to live like he was poor, for they didn’t care for the child they should have never had.

 

Naturally, this habit stuck with him. Just suck it up. Don’t let it show that you’re sick.

 

That day’s dose, if he wasn’t feeling it before, he was certainly feeling it now. His face was washed of all color, his eyes appearing rather dull. He laid in his bunk during the late hours of the night, sweat rolling from his hairline, swiped away lazily by the back of a clammy hand.

 

He looked around, pushing himself up slightly. He must have passed out, and been out for a while, since every other soldier was in their own bunks, and the soft sound of even breathing and snoring filled the barracks.

 

He laid his head back down, the pounding in his skull unforgiving.

 

Then, it was sudden. He felt the bile rise. The nausea, it was too much.

 

He sprinted to the bathroom faster than he knew he could, shoving the stall door open only to collapse onto his knees, gripping the basin for dear life as he wretched every possible ounce of food and fluid from his stomach.

 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, snot dripping from his nose. His body hurled itself with a force he found himself  _ unable to breathe  _ as his ribs shoved hard against the porcelain _. _

 

Blood rushed to his head, blotting out his hearing, closing off the world into a pit of silence and terrible pain.

 

Suddenly the sensation of something distantly cold and wet slapped against the back of his neck, then, something similar swiped over his forehead. 

 

He couldn’t look up, couldn’t see who it was, but the coolness of the water swathed upon his neck and head felt amazing as he rested his forehead against the seat of the basin.

 

Finally, after moments of gurgled breaths and mucus spilling haphazardly from parted lips, swollen, puffy eyes peered up at none other than that of his new bunkmate.

 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect to see the blonde looking down at him with such concerned eyes. He’d half expected it from a different friend of his--if he even had any of those--but who was he kidding, here it was to each his own. He likely would not have done the same thing for any of these assholes personally. But he was grateful, immensely so.

 

“Thank you.”

 

As though he’d gargled gravel, his voice was hoarse as he managed his expression of gratitude, though barely so as he closed his eyes again, resting his body’s full weight against the toilet for support.

 

“Don’t mention it.”   
  


“No. … There’s a lot of assholes here … A lot that wouldn’t come to help someone like this.”

 

“Why--Why wouldn’t they?”

 

“Survival of the fittest. That’s why we’re here.”

 

A passing silence. The cool porcelain offered relief to the burning fever rising in his cheeks. Suddenly, the steps of Morrison’s socked feet on the tile walking away met his hearing. Gabriel nigh called out to ask if it was something he’d said to scare him off, but favored closing his eyes over being smug just this once.

 

A brow perked however, when he heard him come back in, and crouch down next to him. In hand? A canteen. Must have been his own because it was unrecognizable.

 

He took the bottle into shaking fingers.

 

“So … What’s your whole … deal--Keep me distracted a moment so I don’t fuckin’ puke again, what’s--what’s your story kid?”

 

He asked, bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

 

“Oh, Reyes, c’mon.”

 

“What? You don’t kiss and tell or somethin’? Just wanna know what you’re about. I don’t even know your fuckin’ name yet you know mine. But … We’re gonna be paired up a lot together since we’re bunkmates. Means we’re assigned to each other. Sparring partners, and stuff, y’know? Everything. Assuming you fuckin’ live your first round of injections.”

 

That seemed to strike a chord. A hint of nervousness flashing over pale features.

 

“Relax. Most everyone does.”

 

“There’s been people who haven’t?”

 

“One or two.”

 

Another passing silence, so he took the opportunity to take a swig of water, letting it rinse through his mouth and wash away the taste of bile burning in the back of his throat.

“So … My story isn’t much. “My name is Jack--Jack Morrison. I grew up on my family’s farm in Indiana, but I joined the US military when I turned eighteen. I didn’t plan to stay long, I really didn’t. But some big guys up in the Brass saw my devotion to the cause I guess and offered me this position in the program. I couldn’t say no so I … Here I am. That’s really all there is to it.”

 

Gabriel nodded, eyebrows perked.

 

“Man … United States … That’s rough.”

 

“Yeah we’re … Not doing too great right now. Word is, the UN has some sort of plan … We don’t know what yet.” 

 

Jack replied, resting his head back against the stall.

 

“I don’t trust ‘em. Bunch’a dude’s in suits, never seen a day on the field. You ask me? Guys who never been on the field should not direct how the field is run, but whatever. I’m just a soldier. Not any expert or anything.”

 

There was a laugh at that, and another moment of passing silence between the two of them.

 

“So what’s your story?”

 

“Oh me?”

 

A grin twitched at the corners of Gabe’s mouth as he held the opening of his canteen to his lips once more.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell.”


	3. Early Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel laid awake wondering why the kid hadn’t come back. He’d hate to think he’d already grown on him, but it was odd. Sessions with the Goons didn’t take this long. Twenty minutes maybe at most. A whole day? That was unheard of.
> 
>  
> 
> Did they kill him already?

The bright, pearly beams of fluorescent light were becoming an everlasting dizzying sight burned upon Gabriel’s corneas. The course they were to run every morning was lit by the most glaring set of lights positioned high above within the ceiling, beating down Ultra Violet rays and artificial heat, positioned perfectly at twenty-six degrees Celsius. As though it were the hot, desert morning sun.

 

But, there was a certain whiteness to it. A particular synthetic nature about it that turned Gabriel’s stomach.

 

It was insulting. Like they were mocking them with the fakeness of it all. They even went to the effort of painting the ceiling a light cerulean blue. One could barely see it by squinting, as though looking at the real sky, near the sun. But with the flip of a switch it could be turned off and forced into night.

 

It was a joke. What was the point? To simulate the feeling of being outside?

 

To him, it only made it more apparent that he would be stuck indoors for who knew how long this program was to last.

 

Not to mention that it wrecked Gabriel's and likely anyone else's sense of time, being that it was merely 0500 hours and nothing would be close to that hot and bright. Even in the desert.

 

Regardless, he jogged along the track--hood covering his head--though he was long finished with the ten mile run he was to complete. Yet, he still felt he had enough energy to burn. Those doses were hitting him, they had to be, he was feeling stronger. But those scientists ...

 

They didn't hesitate to tell him he was weak.

 

Or perhaps he was becoming more bearing of pain, because he certainly felt like shit given the previous night. Vomiting the whole night through. He was thankful for Jack though, keeping him company. Poor kid started to fall asleep sitting there in the stall with him, so he had to send him back. His first day was going to be Hell on so little sleep, or so Gabriel would assume, but that blonde seemed peppy as ever in the glowing imitation morning light.

 

Breakfast seemed a proper disaster.

 

Plain scrambled eggs and toast with the plain protein block they were forced to eat. It was some grey thing loaded with carbs and protein that he couldn’t stand. It was made bearable with salt and pepper if they could get their hands on it, but besides that, it was nigh unbearable. But perhaps he was getting spoiled.

 

At least he could say it was better than the military, where he could never guarantee his next meal or drink of water. Here those things were readily available. They had to be. They had a bunch of muscle hogs going through their practical second puberty. And third, most likely. They would have to see.

 

Gabriel's slop was intentionally more than the others. He always figured it was because he was bigger than the average grunt they dragged into the Hell incarnate. But the mentions of weakness continued to protrude his mind on this day. Perhaps he was dysphoric and really was some sort of small weakling.

 

The thoughts made him bitter as he forced the foul mush into his mouth, swallowing it down with a look of disgust, fighting the nausea that instantly rose bile to the back of his throat.

 

Don't be weak. Dont be--

 

“Reyes!”

 

Irritated gaze of an absolutely angered expression had shifted to that of Morrison who--completely unphased--sat down across from him.

 

Dead, blood shot, chocolate eyes stared blankly at the blonde before him, his jaw slowly shifting as he chewed on the flavorless, chalky mush in this teeth.

 

“Feeling so much better this morning I see.”

 

He said, snagging a piece of dry toast within perfect white teeth--and after a moment of passing silence--

 

“Sarcasm. That was sarcasm. Figured you'd be the type of guy fluent in it or something.”

 

A forced swallow made Gabriel's stomach roll along with his eyes.

 

“You think you know me after spending one night with me puking?”

 

“I don't need to know you to know you're a sarcastic--”

 

Gabriel leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“A sarcastic what?”

 

Morrison looked like he'd just gotten caught red handed trespassing. His freckled face was growing pink as he stuffed his mouth with toast that made even Gabe’s mouth sticky and dry by its looks.

 

“Listen, just because we spent one night together while I puked my guts up doesn’t make us all buddy buddy, capiche? Don’t act like you know me.”

 

God he was being an ass.

 

Why was he being such an ass? Was he really feeling that miserable? To take it out on a guy that had helped him the night before.

 

Well, the slightly dejected look upon the blonde’s face told him that there would be no more nights of nurse care from Jack in the bathroom after that little stint.

 

“Morrison!”

 

Gabe’s attention perked up as that stupid secretary-scientist bitch’s voice met his ears like nails on a chalkboard. His brows furrowed--and while there were no clocks around--he knew it was still fairly early in the morning.

 

They only usually did injections during the middle of the day, or at night. And on the Kid’s first day? Gabriel didn’t have his first injections until a week in, usually so they could observe your endurance capabilities before they pump you full of life altering, sustaining, and threatening chemicals.

 

The blonde’s face seemed to pale as the toast in his fingers robotically dropped to his tray.

 

Brown eyes tried to catch those blues for a moment, a look to try to tell him that he’d be alright, but he failed to capture the blonde’s attention as he stiffly stood, setting his tray above the plastic waste bin and _everyone_ watched in silence as he was escorted from the Hall.

 

**

 

The day proceeded as normal. As though Morrison didn’t even exist.

 

Gabriel heard murmurs of him through the halls, and mention during passing conversation in training, but other than that, their little concrete world forgot the boy existed for the time he was gone.

 

All until nightfall.

 

Gabriel laid awake in his bunk wondering why the kid hadn’t come back. He’d hate to think he’d already grown on him, but it was odd. Sessions with the Goons didn’t take this long. Twenty minutes maybe at most. A whole day?

 

Did they kill him already?

 

It had to be sometime in the early morning when he heard the sobbing.

 

The sound of utter despair echoing through the halls and the slight murmuring of those in the barracks trying to tell him to shut up. But he wasn’t in the barracks. No, he knew where that sound was coming from.

 

Socked feet scuffed the ground as he found his way to the bathroom, the acrid scent of vomit instantly meeting his nostrils and the sight of the poor kid in the center of the tiled floor, in a pool of his own stomach’s waste.

 

“Morrison?”

 

His voice was rather quiet, only to receive a wild, blind swing from the blonde in return, of which sent him back down onto the floor. But from the glimpse he got--his eyes--they were clouded, and full of fear.

 

“Jesus Christ, Indiana, what did they do to you?”

 

The Kid’s terrified expression seemed to shift as he attempted to look up from the floor.

 

“Reyes?”

 

“... Unfortunately.”

 

Snot dribbled from a red nose as Morrison’s features twisted and screwed into an expression that of a little boy. Afraid. He was trying to look up at him, but his gaze was strewn off to the left, unseeing, unfocused.

 

“I can’t--I can’t--”

 

“Christ--Listen--I’ll be right back. Sit yourself back.”

 

“Please--please don’t leave.”

 

“I’ll be back.”

 

_“Please.”_

 

He _sobbed._

 

Gabriel felt his stomach sink.

 

He’d never even seen Soldiers who met and stared death in the face with that much fear in their eyes. With such a quiver in their voice. He seemed like he’d not only seen death, but witnessed Hell and realized what was waiting for him on the other side.

 

And never did Gabriel think he’d care so damn much.

 

In one fluid motion, he swept the beanie off of his head and latched it onto Jack’s.

 

“Listen.”

 

He stated, grasping his shoulders.

 

“I never go anywhere without my hat. I’m coming back. I’m going to grab you some water, give me at least a sixty seconds. I’ll be back by then. And if not, I swear, you can keep my beanie.”

 

The blonde sniffed, and after a moment, a curt nod.

 

Gabriel sprinted from the bathroom, mentally counting the seconds within his mind of those that passed. But he was back within fifteen seconds to the minute.

 

“Told you.” He breathed.

 

Kneeling, he unscrewed the lid to the canister and upon gingerly taking the Blonde’s hand, he pressed the cool metal into his palm.

 

“Drink this. Slowly.”

 

As he did so, Gabriel’s gaze slowly drifted to the mess of the bathroom floor.

 

The mess he would find himself cleaning. He simply knew he would.  Fucking empathy.

 

“... Thank you.”

 

The poor Kid’s voice was a croak.

 

“Keep drinking.”

 

Gabriel stood, ripping paper towels out of the dispenser. Under the faucet they became sopping wet, and as he crouched back down by Jack, he began to gingerly dab off the man’s forehead, chin, and neck.

 

“Thought you said … Something ‘bout survival of the fittest … Why are you helping me, Reyes?”

 

God, he sounded like he was about to keel, his croaking voice coming through hiccuping sobs. Yet he did as told, and followed with taking a sip off of his canteen.

 

“Because you sound pathetic … And I’m not going to bed with my bunkmate reeking like puke.”

 

The answer came quickly enough to sound natural but truthfully he didn’t know why. He just was. Perhaps to say thank you for taking care of him the night before? Or perhaps to take care of someone the way he wished he’d been taken care of when he was ill or incapable throughout his life?

 

That was getting deep and into an entirely personal zone he did not want to think about.

 

“ … I can’t see.”

 

The Blonde finally said, a look of unholy distress sprouting upon his features.

 

“Figured.”

 

Replied Gabe, who took the liberty to wave his hand in front of Jack’s face.

 

“I can tell you’re waving your hand in front of my face, man.”

 

At least now, he cracked the smallest smile.

 

“I can see shadows, and light movement. They said it should be temporary. But it’s lasted long enough I haven’t been able to get off of the ground.”

 

“Couldn’t make it to the stall I see?”

 

“Couldn’t find it.”

 

A moment of silence passed as a grimace peeled onto Gabriel’s face, finally the acrid scent of vomit beginning to turn his stomach.

 

“Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

 

“N’ how do you plan to do that?”

 

Gabriel crouched beside the blonde, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, sweeping the other behind his knees and lifted him with a relative ease.

 

While Jack made mention of being impressed, Gabriel took note that his temperature was through the roof.

 

But another, Jack was light as a feather.

While his muscles might ache from whatever seizure and tension he suffered previously during whatever seizure was induced previously, he was certainly stronger.  The effects were immediate. Effective.

 

Perhaps this program was truly beneficial … Just in all the wrong ways.

 

**

 

He was woken from a dead sleep.

 

His eyes bleary, he looked up, dazed, confused by the men in lab coats that stood by his bunk trying to rouse him.

 

They didn’t even so much as let him put his boots on as he sat up and he was ushered out of his bed and from the barracks.

 

The walk to the labs was spent practically stumbling. The palm of a hand reached to rub tired eyes as he blundered the halls, though no amount of daze could hide his confusion at being awoken in the dead of the night.

 

“What is this?”

 

Of course the goons wouldn’t grace him with an answer. So he merely followed suit for what they always did. Jumped into a gown and rested on the table.

 

However, his anxiety began to rise as reminders of what happened the last time he was seated in the position ran past his mind. He fidgeted, yet laid still, only allowing his fingers to twitch as mere sign of his nervousness.

 

“So, we will be increasing your dose today, as well as running some durability experiments. Just running a course on your current stamina, watching your heart, monitoring your breathing and the expansion of your lungs, things like that.” Said the closest standing scientist, preparing the cart aside the examination table.

 

“ … Alright. Can I ask why so early in the morning though?”

 

“These doses run tests will take longer to log results, therefore you are the first to get your dose today. Unfortunately that means waking you at 0200 hours for your dose. You may go back to sleep once the dose is finished.”

 

The strong punch of antiseptic attacked his nostrils, burning his nose the moment the scientist stopped speaking and a needle was brought into view as she stood by. A mask was pulled over her face and it was back to the eerie silence of the shuffling of paper suits.

 

They wasted no time in forcing his right arm out, slipping the long, thin, needle into bulging vein.

 

He looked away as the light ‘click’ of the syringe of who-knew-what popped into the IV, immediately forcing the translucent contents within into his bloodstream.

 

So an increased dose huh?

 

Guess there was no turning back now. Not like he could stop them to begin with.

 

“So for this endurance exercise, we’re going to ask that you stand and touch your toes.”

 

His brow furrowed.

 

That was it?

 

A light rush immediately began to fill his head, creating a slight pounding in his ears. The sensation trickled up the base of his neck, sprawling out through the back of his skull.

 

His vision began to grow spotty, yet he still brought himself to his feet.

 

Instantly it felt as though the weight of the entirety of the planet weighed on his shoulders. The world seemed to turn in slow motion around him as he surveyed his surroundings. A few scientist’s stoody by, clipboards in hand, but they had given him a lot of room ...

 

_Touch your toes._

 

His breath, it was loud in his ears. And as his eyes shifted to cast his gaze down upon his feet he could hear them move within their sockets.

 

_Touch your toes._

 

He bent, and the whole world turned upon its axis.

 

The floor beneath his feet became the wall. Legs folded beneath him like they could never function at all and he suddenly found himself flat on his stomach.

 

The Scientist’s rushed him quickly, surrounding him like swarming piranhas to their prey, jotting things down on clipboards, merely watching him blink with confusion as he tried to clear his colorful, splattered vision.

 

Suddenly something was clipped to his finger and a steady rhythmic beeping rang through the rushing and pounding in his ears. The pressure in his head, it was building and building. His head began to ache, veins began to bulge as his features grew immensely heated. Sweat rolled down his temple as his breathing quickly hastened to a fast pant, as though he’d been running.

 

He pushed himself up, his hand immediately going for the examination table to try to level himself, but it was suddenly miles away from his fingertips. His hand merely grazed the table and he found himself fumbling to his hands and knees.

 

It suddenly occurred to him that that rhythmic beeping was not so steady at all, it was ringing out far too quickly, and entirely off kilter.

 

That’s when he got it.

 

It was his heart. His heart was beating too fast, skipping beats. It was working too hard.

 

And all they did was stand around him and watch him writhe and struggle. Was this what they wanted? This was the desired outcome of their tests? To watch him struggle?

 

The ground felt like it was pulling him. Like some unforeseeable weight was attempting to drag him down to the tiles.

 

One Scientist approached and stood before him, their footsteps a pounding thunder in his head, only to touch a hand gently to his shoulder.

 

His own hand went to reach for it, to feel something solid.

 

But with a light push from their hold, he found himself careening onto the ground, now flat on his back.

 

His pupils were blown wide, his vision unable to captivate any sort of scenery or concept becoming around him as his head lulled upon the floor.

 

Warmth began to trickle sideways from his nose, running down his cheek and clogging the back of his throat, bringing him to a choke. The taste of salty metal filled his mouth as the bass drums in his head beat harder and harder. He turned his head in an attempt to clear his air ways, but his head was forced to face the ceiling by a gloved hand.

 

Bloodied lips pried themselves open in a silent scream as he coughed, his entire upper body lifting and jerking with the force of his heaves yet with that weight of the world pulling him down, he found himself on his back no matter how he struggled.

 

True panic began to ensue as full realization settled in that he _could not_ move with the weight bearing down, crushing each one of his limbs under pressure, and his chest, it _burned._ His heart pounded its beat in his chest until suddenly, a sharp pain speared through his chest like a searing knife had been driven straight through his sternum.

 

And then, all was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason this is not tagged as Major Character Death.
> 
> Stay tuned! And let me know what you think of the fic so far!

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on twitter @solarreys!  
> Catch me on my RP blog @enlicht!  
> Catch me on my Personal blog @solareys or @gayngela (where I post overwatch content)  
> Catch me on Youtube where I post my Overwatch content @solareys
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on the fic! I would love to know your feedback!


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